


somebody else

by zigsexual (anythingbutloud)



Series: the driam vignettes [6]
Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, M/M, and an absurd amount of whiskey, sorry this is really just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-10-04 18:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutloud/pseuds/zigsexual
Summary: it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the deadlines approaching. one year older and one week closer to goodbye.





	somebody else

**Author's Note:**

> this part was originally supposed to have beaumont bash but then it got away from me so apologies as there is less maxwell than initially promised. also its really just depressing as all fuck ha ha i wanna die

Olivia falls back on the pillow with an abrupt exhale. Her hair, still mostly tied up in that signature updo, spills tendrils out down her shoulders and across the white of the sheets, breaking up the starkness of the bed.

It’s barely been a few seconds of catching their breath before she speaks. “You broke the rules.”

He looks over at her, her eyes still trained towards the ceiling. “What?”

She doesn’t look back at him, instead sitting up and tucking a few wayward strands of hair behind her ears. “You said his name.”

“Oh.” Drake rolls onto his side, staring at the back of her head as she gets up, slipping on her robe from the bedside table. The dark green silk sets off her eyes when she turns back over her shoulder to meet his gaze, knotting the tie around her waist. “Hey… sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” She shifts her attention, sights set on the mirror across the room, fiddling with a bobby pin that’s been shoved out of place as she approaches it. “Just don’t do it again. You know the drill.”

Drake sighs, sitting up too. “Look, if you know the drill and I know the drill, does it really matter?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Olivia snaps, “Because whenever you say it, I remember where I am. And that’s exactly what I’m trying to _forget_.”

He hasn’t told anyone about the two of them, not even Liam — for obvious reasons. He’s not used to keeping secrets, especially secrets with Olivia, but their unspoken agreement to keep things under wraps seems to be for the best. It’s embarrassing, anyway, for both of them.

Honestly, he can’t even remember the first time it happened. They were probably both drunk; they usually are. But it had developed since then, into somewhat of a mutual understanding. She’s the only person who has at least some semblance of an idea what he’s going through.

Olivia has fully tuned him out now, focusing on fixing what’s been laid adrift of her hair. He watches her: eyebrows furrowed in concentration, a pin between her teeth. She’s beautiful, commanding, one of the more notable ladies at court; sometimes when their eyes meet in shrouded understanding across a room, he wishes he could love her.

But it’s never her name that comes to mind when they’re alone, never her face when he closes his eyes. He knows it’s no different for her, either.

He slips out of the bed, starts getting dressed as she finishes her touch ups in the mirror. Uncapping a lipstick, her eyes follow him in the glass. “Have you ever considered actually dressing like you live in the palace? Just a thought.”

“You ever considered getting the stick removed from your ass?”

“That’s not even clever,” She scoffs. “You’re losing your edge.”

He pulls his shirt on over his head, sighing loudly. “You really know how to kill the mood.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she rolls her eyes, “You want someone else to put up with this? Be my guest, go fuck Kiara next time, see what she says when you start calling her Liam.”

He glares at her. “I get it. I’m sorry.”

“What did I say about sorry?” Olivia turns, suddenly so neatly put-together he’s not quite sure that he _didn’t_ imagine the way his hands had tugged on her hair only minutes ago. “God, the real problem is that you talk too much. Please tell me you didn’t talk so much with Liam. You are _not_ hot enough to be saying that shit to a prince.”

“You know, _you_ talk a lot of shit for someone who literally just —”

“Ugh,” Olivia holds up a hand, face twisted in disgust. “Don’t say it. I do not want to be reminded of how low I’ve sunk. Let’s just get on with it, okay?”

They aren’t the most inconspicuous when they emerge from her yacht — Olivia in sunglasses half the size of her head, Drake with his hands shoved in his pockets — but the celebration is such that no one pays them any notice. They’re good at this by now, snagging an opportune moment when they need one.

It’s Liam’s fault, anyway; it always is. Drake had been anticipating a dull afternoon of helping Maxwell salvage the remains of his family dignity. He knew Liam would be here, sure, but traditionally the royal family was tucked away, kept at arm’s length from the raucous crowds of the regatta. He hadn’t expected to run into Liam on the docks, dressed down like he used to when they were teenagers, the sleeves of his sweater rolled up as he shook hands with well-wishers in the crowd.

Drake had stopped short, staring at him, hands full of materials he was dropping off for Maxwell. Liam had lifted his hand in a wave, the corner of his mouth tipped up in a smile, and Drake realized that they were barely a few yards away from the sands of the marina where Liam had kissed him for the first time all those summers ago.

He’d found Olivia almost immediately after the race had finished, remembering the way Liam looked with his shirt soaked through, mouth hot on his neck against the chill of the night air, letting the memory carry him into her bed as his mind took him straight to Liam’s.

He walks to the beach party on his own, trying to steel himself to see Liam again. Thankfully, this time, he’s nowhere in sight among the suitors and sponsors — Maxwell and Riley among them — detained for a moment in his royal duties.

“You came!” Riley calls out, waving Drake over once she sees him approaching. She’s wearing some elaborately beaded cover-up that dips down her chest, exposing the white bikini underneath and just barely grazing the tops of her thighs. He sets his jaw, trying his best to curb his displeasure towards her.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get so excited about it,” He frowns when she holds out her arms for a hug, blowing her off in favor of grabbing a Coke from the nearby catering table and popping the tab.

Riley throws her arms around Maxwell instead, pulling him against her side without missing a beat. Drake had taken the liberty of snagging a miniature bottle of Jack from Olivia’s fridge before leaving her yacht, and he pulls it out of his pocket while the two of them are distracted, emptying the contents into the soda.

The first sip is such sweet relief he nearly sighs.

“I’m trying to get everyone to go swimming with me,” Riley chatters on, “I’ve never been to a beach where you can swim in the water, and Hana says it’s actually _warm_ here.”

“It is,” Drake replies, mind wandering back to the way the water from Liam’s eyelashes dripped down his face when they kissed.

“Well, Maxwell won’t go with me,” Riley pouts, “He’s being a little bitch.”

“ _God_ , Riley,” Maxwell turns away from her dramatically, barely concealing his grin, “I _told_ you I can’t mess up my _tanlines_.”

“That’s _exactly_ what a little bitch would say,” Riley cackles, grabbing him around his waist, the two of them breaking into wild laughter.

Drake throws back the rest of his drink, Riley and Maxwell now virtually ignoring his presence as they continue their strange back-and-forth. He lets it slide, grateful for the reprieve.

He heads back towards the catering setup to throw away his now empty can, lingering for a moment to survey the rest of the area in search of the bar. He doesn’t notice Liam come up behind him, resting a hand delicately against the small of his back.

He jumps at the touch, almost turning right into Liam’s arms. “Hey,” Liam says, pulling his hand back. “Sorry — I should’ve said something.”

“No, it’s —” Drake feels his heart stutter, Liam so close to him again. In this place, of all places. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been paying attention.”

“Congrats on the win,” Liam smiles. “Riley told me you helped her and Maxwell out on the boat.”

Drake runs a hand through his hair, fingers almost shaking. “Yeah, I… yeah.”

Their eyes meet, Drake feeling sapped of all his strength as soon as they do.

“You look…” he tries to find words, his mouth fumbling under Liam’s gaze. “You look good. Really good.”

“Thank you,” Liam says politely, shifting almost imperceptibly closer. Drake isn’t sure if he even knows he’s doing it. “My father said it’s best for me to dress down at events like this, makes me seem more approachable.”

“I don’t know about ‘approachable,’” Drake replies, reaching out to brush his fingers ever so slightly along the seam of Liam’s sweater, pulling back when he reaches his waist. “You look hot.”

“It’s not too warm out today,” Liam says, “There’s a wind coming out over the —“

“No, Liam — god,” Drake cracks a smile, lowering his voice. “You look _hot_. Like, ‘everyone here wants you’ hot.”

“Oh,” Liam rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks reddening. “Right.”

Drake laughs. “It’s a compliment, I promise. Casual… it suits you. Everything suits you.”

“Listen, I actually… I came over here because I need to talk to you,” Liam says, breaking his posture to hazard a gentle touch on Drake’s arm. “About what my father said, during his speech.”

“His speech?” His skin prickles under Liam’s hand. “When?”

“Before the regatta.” Liam bites his lip. “Did you not hear it?”

Drake shakes his head. “I must’ve been setting up with Maxwell. Why? What did he say?”

“Drake,” Liam’s grip tightens, a hollow desperation in his voice. “He’s stepping down. After the social season.”

Drake stares.

“But — but that’s —” _Oh god._ “That’s in a few weeks.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t… did he even _warn_ you?”

“No.” Liam takes a deep breath, blinking too quickly. “He didn’t say anything — he still hasn’t. I don’t know what brought this on, he’s never even —” Another breath, this one bringing tears to his eyes. “I don’t know what to do, I can’t… I thought I’d have more time.”

His voice breaks, and Drake glances around their surroundings, checking to make sure no one is too close by. Liam has his lips pursed tightly, his hand wrapped around Drake’s arm like a vice, and Drake can tell he’s on the verge of breaking down.

“Okay, it’s gonna be okay,” he says, gently removing Liam’s hand, turning to wrap his arm around Liam’s shoulders. “Let’s get out of here and we can talk, alright? Just — I’m right here.”

Liam nods, letting Drake lead him slowly away from the party and onto the beach, where the crowds are fewer and far between. They make their way towards the brush on the opposite end, leading into the old hiking trails they used to climb when they were kids. By some gracious stroke of luck, they manage to avoid attracting the attention of the group of suitors who have wandered into the water (Riley curiously not among them) and slip in between the palm trees a moment later.

When they’re out of sight, Drake drops his arm, but Liam reaches for his hand almost immediately, interlocking their fingers together. Drake glances over at him, but he’s still staring down at the ground, following the path they’d always take towards the waterfall.

“Do you know why he might be doing this?” Drake ventures, quickening his pace to keep up. “I mean, is it too late to take it back?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Liam mutters, squeezing Drake’s hand. “I feel like none of this is real.”

“We’ll figure it out, Liam,” Drake says. “This is what you’ve been training for, for _years_ now. You’re brilliant, the people love you, you’re going to be incredible.”

“I know.”

“Look, I don’t give a shit about any of this stuff, the royalty, the ceremony — all of it. But even I can see how much this country adores you, all the work you’ve done for them. Everyone here, everyone around you, we’ll be right by you the entire way. You can absolutely do this.”

“I know,” Liam repeats, voice breaking, “But I don’t _want_ _to_.”

Drake stops, pulling Liam to a halt by their joined hands. When Liam looks back at him, the tears are already falling down his face.

He bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut against them. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Drake says quietly, “It’s just me.”

Liam lets out a shaky breath, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. “I don’t want to do it, Drake. I don’t want any of this. I never did, _never_. And I… I guess I thought that maybe things would fix themselves, fall into place somehow, if I gave it enough time. Maybe Leo would come back, or my father would keep ruling for the next decade, at least. But now it’s… it _is_ real, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I just needed more _time_ , and… and he took it.”

“Oh, Liam,” Drake whispers.

“And I — I _know_ it’s such a stupid thing to complain about, right?” Liam looks at him, lower lip quivering as the tears keep coming. “I mean it’s a lifetime of fortune, power, public adoration… how can I stand here and say I’m upset with it when so many people have nothing? I hate that I can’t just be grateful for what I’m given. But… but I really thought I was going to have a chance to be _me_ , for at least a moment. For once in my whole life, to just be Liam and nothing else. That’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

Drake closes the distance between them, pulling Liam tightly to his chest as the tears cut his voice short, Liam pressing his face into Drake’s shoulder as he breathes in deep.

“You have a few weeks,” Drake murmurs. “It’s… it’s not over yet. You’re not the King yet.”

“But then what?” Liam manages, “Once we have the coronation… that’s it.”

“You have a few weeks,” Drake repeats, his voice smaller this time.

Liam holds him close, the tears coming slower now. Drake strokes his hair, the other hand wrapped around his back. He’s so incredibly tempted to just brush his lips against Liam’s temple, press a kiss along the side of his cheek, but he knows it won’t make anything better. At least not in the long term.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, “I’m not leaving you, alright? I’ll do whatever you need, even if it’s just… being here.”

“You know,” Liam says softly, turning his head just a bit so as not to muffle his voice in Drake’s shirt. “You’re the only person in my life who’s ever cared about me for just me, nothing else.”

“Liam, I —” Drake pauses, catching himself. “I _more_ than care about you.”

Liam lifts his head, looking into Drake’s eyes just a few inches away, still wrapped up in his arms. Drake holds his breath, letting the hand in Liam’s hair drop down to gently brush the tears from his face. Liam leans into his touch, and for a moment, he thinks _maybe_ —

“Thank you,” Liam breathes, eyes still drinking him in, rooting him to the spot. “For letting me be just Liam.”

“Well, it’s my job,” Drake says, fingers lingering along Liam’s cheek. “I’d never forgive myself if you got a big head. We’d have to overthrow you.”

Liam smiles, and Drake wants to kiss him so badly it’s almost painful. His heart hurts, each beat a reminder of the time passing, taking Liam away from him with every second.

“I more than care about you, too,” Liam finally says, stepping back from him, but pulling Drake’s hand into his once more.

They walk back to the beach like that, so close their shoulders almost brush together, only stepping apart when they emerge from the cover of the trees. Even still, Liam holds tight to his hand just a second longer before letting him go.

—

It’s a punch to the gut that the next stop is Applewood, the place they’d built the most dreams on. Memories cloud every room, hopes still lingering in the air like dust. Drake wishes he’d just gotten a hotel.

Maxwell and Riley are the first to arrive, early in the morning, Maxwell buzzing with energy as usual even while carrying Riley’s bags inside the sprawling estate. It’s not Drake’s ideal company, but he figures that he’d just be one step closer to a full mental breakdown if he spent the day following Liam around.

“Drake!” Maxwell singsongs, once they meet up in the sitting room of the sleeping quarters. The morning sun is still so bright through the windows, Drake squinting against the light as Maxwell pulls him into a hug. “Are you excited?”

“For what?” Drake says, leaning back against the table he’d been using as a chair, wishing he had brought down something to drink while he waited for them. “Nasty apples and a fucking parade?”

Maxwell smiles at him. “You’re always so comfortingly stagnant.”

Drake sighs, crossing his arms. “Where’s your girl?”

“She’s not _my_ girl,” Maxwell says, “And she’s getting ready. Bertrand is giving her the fifth degree about her outfit again.”

“Rough.”

“Yeah, especially since he doesn’t know the first thing about fashion.”

Maxwell keeps chattering away, filling the void with his usual nonsense, and for once Drake is grateful. At least the constant mindless talking drowns out the memories of Liam that keep washing over him like the tide, relentless in their onslaught.

Riley emerges not long after, looking half-asleep but still done up. It’s clear that she’s trying to look more casual, more subdued, but there are still so many bobby pins in her hair she could set off a metal detector.

“Does this place have a real kitchen?” she asks, “I need coffee immediately. Bertrand just took all the energy I had left and smashed it under his foot like a bug.”

“Colorful analogy,” Maxwell takes her arm. “He didn’t follow you here, did he?”

Drake nods towards the door. “There’s a kitchen down the hall. A real one, not for the staff. Should have coffee.”

“I didn’t know you were the tour guide today,” Riley says in response.

“Drake used to come here all the time with Liam,” Maxwell answers, already leading Riley out into the hall. “As you know, we all go way back.”

Drake sighs, standing up to follow them. At least if they’re heading to the kitchen, he can get something to make this bearable. Something a little stronger than coffee.

They meet up with the others on the way out to the orchard, the rest of the girls overdone as usual, Kiara in particular making a silent fuss over navigating the dirt path in her heels. To Drake’s surprise, Riley falls back next to him in the group, nudging him in the shoulder to announce her presence.

“Hey, Debbie Downer.”

“Wow, you’re a charmer.” He takes a sip from the to-go cup that he had decidedly not used for its intended purpose, already wishing he’d planned ahead for a refill. “Make a lot of friends like that?”

“Are we friends now?”

“No.”

Her white dress makes her look innocent, almost bridal, a stark reminder of the reason she’s here, of the deadline approaching in just a few short weeks. He takes another drink, willing the minutes to go by faster.

“Do you guys always go to this thing? The apple festival?”

“Not if I can help it.”

She rolls her eyes. “Wow, I’m gonna need more coffee if I plan on dealing with you all day.”

“Who says you’re —”

She grabs the cup from his hands before he’s even aware of what she’s doing, tipping it back and taking a drink with her eyes locked on his, clearly enjoying his annoyance. He watches her, wide-eyed, waiting for the expression to change, but she doesn’t miss a beat even as she drops the cup back down as quickly as she’s grabbed it, swallowing the sip and holding it out toward him.

He takes it from her carefully, not missing the pointed look she gives him as their fingers brush.

“Don’t,” he says under his breath, “I already know, okay?”

She gently touches her lips. “That is… not coffee.”

“Exactly why I wasn’t offering.”

“Drake —”

“Save it, Brooks.”

“I just —” she purses her lips, looking at him in a way he hates even more than her. “Are you alright?”

“Fucking peachy.”

“You sure?” She taps the lid of his cup. “Because that’s straight whiskey. In a Starbucks cup. At _nine in the morning._ ”

He doesn’t answer, hoping his silence will force her to drop the subject. He’s wrong.

“What is that, like an entire fifth?” She lowers her voice, an accusatory edge in her tone. “Please tell me you’re not going to drink that whole thing.”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“You don’t want to talk about _anything_ with me, so what makes this any different?”

He’s surprised to hear the bitterness in her voice when she says that, so uncharacteristic of her normal cheery demeanor. He’d always assumed that’s why she and Maxwell got along so well, both obliviously optimistic, but her face is set hard when he turns to look at her.

“You’re an alcoholic,” she says.

“I am _not_.”

“Well, if you’re not now, then you’re already one foot into a future of AA meetings.” She crosses her arms, eyes searching his face. “Did you drink anything before this?”

He hesitates a beat too long, somehow unable to bring himself to lie, and she purses her lips. “ _God_ , Drake.”

“Calm down,” he rolls his eyes. “I’m not drunk, okay? Doing all this shit… it’s stressful.”

“You’ve had more alcohol this morning than I’ve had since the day I showed up here, and you’re not drunk? That’s exactly what an alcoholic would say.”

“I…” He stares at her.

She stares back.

“Riley!” Maxwell calls from up ahead, “They’re starting!”

“ _Brooks_ ,” Drake says, voice low. She turns away from him, hurrying forward down the path while he lets himself come to a stop, watching her go. Before she’s too far away, she looks back, pity crossing over her face when her eyes meet his.

“Just… wait until five like the rest of us,” she sighs, brow furrowing before she turns her back to him again.

—

Drake isn’t sure what to do with himself as the festivities continue on, press crowding the gardens that used to be the backdrop of his daydreams. He doesn’t want to see Liam, not in this place, not with these people. And at the same time, the urge to find him and hold him close is stronger than ever.

There’s a gazebo out near the pond where he’s certain Liam will be, hidden out from the rest of the world. How could he not, with everything weighing on him recently? Drake steels himself, brushing past the signs that say the area is closed, making his way up the cobblestones until he has his hand on the doorknob, about to enter.

Through the glass of the door, he sees her — Riley.

She’s not alone.

He steps backward, at first still trying to maintain the illusion of calm, but it’s too much to keep staring at the two of them, especially when Liam is standing so close to her. Riley smiles up at him, and Drake has to turn away, rushing back down the garden pathway towards the house, desperate to put some space in between them.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for when he hurries up the stairs towards his room, just something to make him forget, something to take the edge off the jagged parts of his heart. _If Liam chooses her, if Liam marries her_ —

He finds Olivia instead, making her way down the hallway with a bottle of something dark in her hand. At the sight of him, she holds it up. “Want a drink?”

They sit out on the balcony of her room, glasses full, no ice.

“Do you really think he’s going to pick her?” she asks.

Drake doesn’t want to think about it, but he knows he has to. Liam is going to pick someone, right? And now that his father has officially announced he’s stepping down, there’s even more riding on the choice. He runs his finger over the rim of his glass. “Yeah.”

“Ugh,” Olivia rubs the bridge of her nose. “I mean I knew it, but I thought… you know, maybe.”

“For what it’s worth,” he offers, “If it had to be anyone… I’d have preferred it be you.”

“Don’t get soft on me. That was almost… nice.”

“It’s never happening again.”

“Good.” Olivia leans forward, resting her chin in her hand, looking out at the grounds with obvious distaste. She swirls her glass absently, the liquid running up against the edges and threatening to spill.

Drake can see the swarms of guests out in the distance, can barely glimpse the edge of the gazebo as well. He wonders if they’re still in there, if they’ve moved on from just talking. “She called me an alcoholic earlier.”

Olivia laughs. “Who, Riley?”

“Who else?”

“Well, you are.” Olivia rolls her eyes at him. “An alcoholic, I mean.”

“I am _not_.”

Olivia turns her head to meet his eyes, nodding in the direction of the bottle she’d brought out with them. “Where the fuck do you think I got this? Not to mention the fact that you didn’t even _notice_ it was yours. You’re the biggest cliché I’ve ever met, Drake.”

She leans back in the chair with a sigh, closing her eyes and raising her glass up in a mocking toast. “Happy fucking birthday, by the way.”

He discovers later that Liam has let it slip to Riley, who has let it slip to everyone. Maxwell makes them all go out to a western bar to celebrate. He pretends it was Riley’s idea, but he has a car waiting far too quickly for it not to have been an organized ruse. They nag Drake until he agrees to go just to get them off his case, even though a night out with that group is that last thing he wants. It’s just like Maxwell to remember what he hates most in the world and then somehow make it worse.

The only glimmer of hope in the whole debacle is Liam, who has agreed to sneak out with the rest of them. He’s been more of a stickler for the rules lately, what with the social season being so highly watched, so his presence is both a gift and the one thing making the night worthwhile.

When they arrive, Maxwell, Hana, and Riley make a beeline for the dance floor, shrieking with laughter. Drake hangs back by the bar, not wanting to get caught in their debauchery any more than he has to.

Liam sits down next to him, still looking every bit the handsome prince, even without his tailored suits. “Hey,” he says, smiling in that earnest way of his, making Drake’s mouth go dry. “I know you hate all this, but I’m sure you’re glad for an excuse to be away from the court.”

Drake looks down at his hands, avoiding Liam’s eyes. “Yeah, it’s been… a lot, lately.”

The tone of Liam’s voice says more than his words. “I know.”

He exhales slowly, and Drake drops his hand at his side, brushing it against Liam’s until Liam hooks two of their fingers together, ever so slightly.

“My father is dying,” he says quietly, “that’s why he’s stepping down. Nobody knows.”

Drake looks at him in shock. “Liam, I —”

“I’m not telling you because I want you to feel bad for me,” Liam looks down at his feet. “I just need to tell someone. And you’re my… you’re my best friend.”

“Jesus,” Drake says, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” Liam sighs, still not meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry for so many things, Drake.”

Before he can respond, Riley and Maxwell pounce on them, and he drops Liam’s hand. “Come _on_ ,” Riley is saying, tugging at Drake’s sleeve, “You have to dance with us, birthday boy! Hana’s getting drinks.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Drake frowns, crossing his arms. “I don’t do dancing.”

“But it’s your _birthday_!”

“Even more reason why you should throw in the towel on this.”

Riley pouts, turning instead to Liam. “Liam, you’ll dance with me, right? Show Drake how it’s done?”

“I…” Liam glances over at Drake, an apology in his eyes, and then Riley is tugging him out with her, eyes bright as she laughs.

Maxwell hops up onto the barstool next to Drake, watching Riley go with a distant smile on his face. Drake regards him warily. “You’re going to pass up dancing to… sit at the bar?”

“It’s your birthday,” Maxwell replies, an echo of Riley’s earlier refrain. “You shouldn’t be all alone over here.”

“I know it’s hard for you types to understand, but sometimes being alone is preferable.”

“I don’t think you really believe that,” Maxwell says. “If we get you drunk, will you at least pretend to be more fun?”

Drake rolls his eyes, but Maxwell is already ordering something from the bartender, then passing a shot glass over to Drake, who only looks at him incredulously. “I’m not doing shots with you.”

“Yes you are,” Maxwell holds his up like a toast. “To a new year with everyone’s favorite wet blanket.”

Drake rolls his eyes even harder this time, but Maxwell’s energy is just contagious enough to get him to oblige, raising his as well. “To being alone.”

Maxwell laughs, throwing back the shot and standing up. Drake does the same, but the liquid in his glass tastes like rotten licorice. He coughs, hitting Maxwell in the shoulder. “What the fuck _is_ this?”

“Absinthe,” Maxwell says. “You needed it.”

“And you just —”

“Oh no, mine was a gummy bear,” he says, even as Drake makes a face at him. “Chin up, Walker, you’ll get your alone time now — the lady calls.”

Drake looks in the direction of Maxwell’s footsteps, still swallowing back the bitter taste in his mouth. Riley has broken off from Liam, who is over to the side talking with Hana, and now has both her arms outstretched towards Maxwell. She’s smiling so big it’s like her whole face is a sunbeam, and she bounces on her toes until he meets her, taking her hands and spinning her around, both of them laughing.

Hana sets her drink down, excusing herself to go join Maxwell and Riley, and Drake takes the chance to finally pull away from the bar and cross over to where Liam is standing, watching them all.

“No more dancing?” Drake asks upon approach. Liam’s eyes flicker over to him, but he barely smiles.

“Maxwell can keep up with Riley better than I can.”

Drake follows his gaze, watching Riley for a moment as well. She’s moved on to teaching Hana how to line dance, pulling Maxwell in for support as Hana awkwardly attempts to follow her moves.

He looks back at Liam, whose face is tinged with an exhaustion so heavy it weighs down his shoulders. He looks like he’s not quite all there, like a part of him is still pacing the halls of the palace trying to pick up the pieces of the monarchy.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Drake ventures.

Liam’s expression doesn’t even shift at the question. “I don’t know. Not now. Not today. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have said anything; this is supposed to be a break from all that.”

“When you run with the nobles, nothing ever really is.”

They only stay for an hour or so more before Maxwell finally relents and calls another car to take them back to Applewood. The drive back is quiet, Riley resting her head on Maxwell’s shoulder, both of them crashing from their adrenaline highs. Liam still seems caught in himself, and finally Drake has to turn and look out the window because it hurts too much to know there’s nothing he can do.

Once inside, Hana is first to take her leave, and then Riley and Maxwell split off towards their rooms, leaving Drake and Liam to walk the rest of the distance alone. The second it’s just the two of them, the darkened hallways echoing with their footsteps, the air feels heavy.

Every moment alone with Liam is like this: charged with potential and what-ifs and tension. He wants to pull Liam into his room, kiss him until they both can’t breathe. He wants to mark out a new memory, one they can’t forget.

Liam is on edge, Drake can tell; he’s careful not to close the space between them too much and his hands are clasped together. It’s like he knows exactly what Drake is thinking, and he’s desperately trying to tell him no, even as his eyes drink him in when he thinks no one can see.

Drake’s room is first of course, with Liam in the royal suite. They pause outside, both silent, not looking at each other as Drake unlocks his door. It’s only when he opens it that he feels a hand on his arm.

“Drake,” Liam whispers. Drake looks back at him, but he doesn’t move to continue, only gazing out with eyes as deep as the ocean.

Drake rests his hand on top of Liam’s, still locked in his gaze. “Yeah?”

He imagines it all playing out: Liam reaching for him, the two of them stumbling into the room, kisses on all the places where their bodies yearn for each other, fingers tight on the sheets, a hand on the headboard, Liam’s mouth on his as he says Drake’s name like a prayer.

Instead, Liam pulls his hand back, almost trembling, his mouth parting for just a moment before finally he speaks. “Happy birthday.”

Drake just stares at him, falling in love all over again, breaking his heart all over again. The endless cycle of renewal and pain that punctuates their time together. He wants to say _I love you_. He wants to say _I miss you_. He wants to say _I know you said we can’t wish anymore, but I wished for you_.

Instead, he says nothing, opening the door to his room, stepping inside, and sinking down to the floor as soon as Liam is gone.

That night he dreams about Liam for the first time in a while, has to wake up and take a cold shower at four in the morning, hands pressed against the tile while he breathes in deep. Afterwards, he stares himself down in the mirror. _Get a hold of yourself._

He almost pours a glass of whiskey on the way back to bed, but for some reason he hears Riley’s voice in his head and can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he stares at his phone, writing and re-writing a text to Liam.

_I can’t stop thinking about_

_Maybe we could still_

_I want you so bad I just_

_I love you I love you I love you_

He deletes every single one, falling back against the pillow with a frustrated sigh.


End file.
